WGD Ch 17

Even when I was in the United States, I didn’t attend school, and the same was true after coming to Korea. This was because Chairman Cha, ashamed of my shortcomings, had me homeschooled.

But the situation changed. I, who had been an embarrassment to show in public, went through manifestation pain, growing taller and developing sharper facial features in just a few days. All that remained was to grow into the “dominant alpha” Chairman Cha so desperately desired.

That said, I had no intention of doing something foolish like pinning hopes on his approval. By now, I could read this venomous old man to some extent. He asked me to name what I wanted, but in reality, he had a predetermined answer in mind. Money, stocks, jewelry, cars, artwork—things focused on material rewards.

However, the moment I made a request that deviated from his expectations, the gift would vanish, and everything would turn into a transaction.

“What’s the point of going to a school that’s not even better than the education you’re getting now?”

See, just like now.

The satisfied expression on his face disappeared, and Chairman Cha scanned me with sharp eyes.

“Why insist on enrolling now?”

“People who’ve recently come into money tend to flaunt their wealth. That’s why their gifts focus on visible things. But I’ve heard that those who’ve built wealth over a long time or were born rich focus on time, which money can’t buy.”

Without avoiding his gaze, I presented my prepared answer.

“I want to be gifted the most valuable time through experience. Since it’s time that can’t be bought, I have no intention of wasting it. One year, just one year is enough.”

I didn’t ask for more. The man, two years older than me, would graduate in a year.

“A group heir attending an ordinary high school. Even if it’s brief, I believe you know it would have a positive effect on my image.”

Even if not immediately, once I started attending school, rumors about who I was would spread quickly. If the media began covering it, I could quit under the pretext of not wanting to inconvenience the school or my friends.

This was a transaction. Having set a time limit, it was time to propose other conditions.

“After one year, I’ll bring you the other answer you want.”

“How do you know what answer I want?”

“You want proof of my management capabilities, don’t you? When I become an adult, I’ll organize my business goals and bring you something to prove it.”

His chillingly gleaming eyes stared at me for a while.

A moment later, Chairman Cha reached out and pressed a button on the phone on his desk. Beep—an electronic sound, like a countdown, rang out, and the other party answered. Without taking his eyes off me, he ordered, “Secretary Baek, prepare a school uniform. For Daehan High School.”

At 12:30 p.m., the bell signaling lunchtime ended, and an announcement over the speaker declared that meal distribution for third-year students had begun.

The cafeteria at Daehan High School was slightly too small to accommodate all students at once. So, distribution started with third-years, followed by second-years, then first-years. Unless the menu was terrible, most students waited in their classrooms and went to the cafeteria after the announcement.

Of course, there were exceptions. Those who were starving or wanted to use lunchtime for soccer or basketball games rushed to the school store as soon as the bell rang. If competition seemed fierce, some even bought instant noodles or bread during the break after third period.

I was neither.

The cafeteria building was close to the sports field, and arriving early meant securing a good spot in the stands. While drinking the milk I brought in the morning and looking out at the open field, third-years who finished eating began trickling out through the exit.

“Hey, it’s Kang Siheon.”

The murmurs from below the stands didn’t stop there.

“He’s been showing up a lot lately. Isn’t he filming something?”

“He’s just here to meet attendance requirements. He eats lunch and leaves anyway.”

“Coming just to eat?”

I was encountering kids my age for the first time at school, but it didn’t take long to feel disillusioned. They couldn’t stand seeing someone successful without trying to tear them down. But once that person entered their predefined boundaries, they’d blindly worship and fawn over them.

Should I throw my milk carton at the backs of those disgusting kids’ heads? Would something like that be brushed off as a “my hand slipped, sorry” mistake with a quick apology?

It was obviously wrong, but I was still learning whether it fell within the range of acceptable missteps among peers, so I wasn’t sure.

The deliberation didn’t last long. A sudden cheer erupted from the field.

“Hey, Kang Siheon’s playing—bet big, bet big. This is your only chance.”

Siheon-hyung, having thrown off his winter uniform blazer, was quietly rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt with just a tie. Soon, a basketball thrown by someone landed in his arms.

“Siheon only has 30 minutes. Let’s move quickly, okay?”

At someone’s shout, the people gathered at the basketball hoop moved in unison. It seemed like a group of only alphas, both male and female.

I was lucky. Usually, he’d just eat and leave, so I could only steal glances when he passed by, but today I could watch him for a full 30 minutes. Plus, since third-years typically had self-study during gym class, this was my first time seeing him play sports.

Siheon-hyung bounced the basketball in place and suddenly called for a timeout.

“Hey, wait, wait. Let me take one shot. It’s been so long since I held a ball, I’ve lost my touch.”

“He’s just showing off in front of the kids,” someone teased, and he burst into a refreshing laugh. Dribbling, he leaped lightly off the ground, and the ball sailed in a smooth arc through the hoop.

I stood up instinctively but quickly sat back down. Though I was still growing, I’d been so small that I wasn’t noticeable yet. I wanted to grow taller than him someday and tell him I wanted to play together.

His slightly long hair, free from the restrictions of his acting career, flowed messily each time he jumped.

And each time, my breathing became a mess too.

Unfortunately, the luck didn’t last long. Perhaps due to overlapping shoots, it became hard to see him at school.

Even when he occasionally showed up, his expression wasn’t as bright as before. Surprisingly, his friends didn’t seem to notice the change.

With a faint hope and a determination to attend his graduation and congratulate him, I filled my time.

As the year neared its end, I’d become the tallest in the school. I stood out wherever I went, but the person I wanted to notice me stopped coming to school.

Since he announced in an interview that he wouldn’t attend college, having met the minimum attendance for graduation, it seemed unlikely I’d see him at school anymore.

One morning after the third-years’ college entrance exams, an article appeared. I hadn’t even searched his name yet.

Actor Kang Siheon’s mother passes away after long illness

The headline hit me like a punch, my heart sinking and the ground seeming to collapse beneath me.

It was almost the end of the one-year promise with Chairman Cha Hyeoncheol. With help from the staff and Secretary Yang, I was working on a business proposal and needed to focus. But that day, I couldn’t get anything done.

“Young master.”

Secretary Yang looked at me with concern. Embarrassed, I bit my lip and pressed my throbbing head.

“Ah, where were we?”

“There were negative comments about the aviation industry. It’s not a field that can produce visible results quickly.”

“Anything else?”

“There’s only one domestic company with satellite system development capabilities, as you mentioned, so there’s no need to consider acquiring shares.”

Other tasks I’d requested were neatly listed on the desk. I knew I should review them carefully, but nothing registered. Amid my distraction, I formally thanked them for their hard work.

The day’s official schedule ended there. Checking the time, it was already well past 10 p.m. Afterward, I was supposed to review various reports and materials on my own.

Normally, I’d sit diligently until dawn, studying, but not today. An unease and impatience told me I wasn’t where I needed to be.

After Secretary Yang cleared away unnecessary documents, I quickly changed clothes and pulled a black ball cap low over my face.

Having done it a few times, sneaking out wasn’t as hard as when I was younger. Catching a taxi was easier too.

Headlights flashed by, driving away the cold with their speed. Among the smoothly racing cars, the taxi slowed down.

Seoul Funeral Home.

The car stopped at the lit entrance.

I got out without taking change. Whether it was a small amount or not, I felt compelled to show kindness. I was gripped by the absurd delusion that even 300 won could send Siheon’s mother to a better place.

Stepping out of the taxi, a cold breeze pierced deep into my lungs. It was cold. A heavy somberness pressed down on my chest.

Looking around, I saw quite a few people who looked like reporters. Back then, when a celebrity died, reporters would camp out at funeral homes. Since it was the actor’s mother, not the actor himself, there were fewer, but still plenty. They scanned me up and down as I got out of the car, realized I wasn’t a celebrity, and quickly lost interest, turning away.

A curse rose to my throat, but I swallowed it and entered the building.

Walking down a corridor lined with condolence wreaths, I slowed my steps in front of a parlor dense with flowers.

“We sincerely pray for the repose of the deceased — Sori Entertainment staff”

Next to it, a monitor displayed related information: the deceased’s name, encoffinment and funeral times, burial site… Glancing at other parlors’ monitors, I saw multiple names listed as mourners—daughters, sons, sons-in-law, daughters-in-law.

Here, only “Kang Siheon” was listed, making it feel especially desolate.

At the parlor’s entrance was a condolence money box. It was late, so no mourners were present. But voices from the incense altar, where people paid respects to the deceased, suggested a few company people remained.

The person I was looking for wasn’t there. He might be resting in the family lounge inside the parlor, but I instinctively knew he wasn’t here.

Taking advantage of the momentary absence of people, I slipped an envelope into the condolence box and left without a trace. Then, like someone entranced, I walked wherever my feet led.

Behind the funeral home building, a large mountain loomed. To the right was a public parking lot; to the left, a pitch-dark area without a single light. Cigarette butts littered the ground, indicating it was an unspoken smoking area. A fence blocked the mountain to keep animals out.

Following the dark path on the left for a while, I reached a corner jutting out like a blind spot. A faint sound of movement came from beyond the thin wall.

“Phew…”

A long, moist exhale. An attempt to suppress emotions. But it was merely venting rising grief. It wasn’t a sob that could be stifled by sheer effort. No actor could hide their emotions in such a situation.

“Hic…”

A gasp slipped through fractured breaths. I pitied him, crying silently. Imagining his swollen, red eyelids and tear-soaked cheeks, I desperately wanted to hold him. But I couldn’t. If he noticed me, he’d try to stop crying.

So I muffled my presence, quietly approached, and sat with my back against the wall. He didn’t know, but we were sitting back-to-back. I hoped a sliver of warmth could reach him through this cold wall.

The area must have once been part of the parking lot, as a convex road mirror stood alone. Thanks to it, I could glimpse his outline beyond the corner. A man, head buried between his crouched knees, weeping endlessly.

My chest churned, and a burning lump rose in my throat. Swallowing hard did no good. Grief is contagious. For a moment, his reflection in the mirror blurred. He wouldn’t see, but I quickly pulled my cap lower.

“Damn…”

He rubbed his eyes harshly and broke into sobs again. Unable to bear it, his body shook with wails. From his grief-consumed form, pheromones he couldn’t hide leaked out. That didn’t matter. When he spat out a single word, pouring out his pent-up pain, “Mom…”

Tears finally fell from my burning eyes, dripping down.

He cried and stopped repeatedly. When he cried, I cried too; when he stopped, I checked his state in the mirror. I don’t know how much time passed.

Footsteps came from the path I’d taken. Peering out, I saw figures holding cameras. They must have heard his muffled sobs. Unlike reporters who kept some boundaries, these weren’t from major media—likely from the countless online outlets that had sprung up.

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I spoke.

“Hey.”

Even without the mirror, I could sense him stiffen in surprise beyond the wall. Clearing my throat, my voice didn’t sound like mine after all the crying.

“There are reporters at the entrance. If I go out first, they might think no one’s here and leave. Just in case, I’ll leave this.”

I took off my black ball cap and placed it where he could see it at the corner.

“After some time, use this to cover your face. It might have some pheromones, but it shouldn’t be unpleasant.”

Standing up, I started to walk away but hesitated, thinking of him crying silently. I said what I wished someone had told me.

“I lost my mom not long ago too. So I know. Sometimes, it’s easier to just hurt than to get better. When that happens, it’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to cry. No one will judge you.”

My nasal voice sounded anything but cool. Annoying. Though it was a childish voice, there was something I desperately wanted him to hear.

“You said going alone is tiring. So it’s okay to struggle and grieve now. You’re alone right now. But someday… someone will definitely be by your side.”

I’ll come to you. Then we’ll go together.

I didn’t say the last part—it sounded like an obsessive stalker.

Only faint sniffles came from beyond the wall, no reply. That was okay. Someday, I’d hold him and comfort him. I’d hug him a lot then, tell him he did well, that I dared to understand his grief and efforts.

I walked away noisily on purpose. The reporters, seeing me approach, looked disappointed and smacked their lips. Passing by as if I were the only one crying, I thought it’d be better to make it clearer. And they were getting on my nerves.

“Hey, hold on. What are you guys doing, lurking around here? Are you mourners? What’s with the cameras? Is it okay to film like this? Do you have permission?”

As I interrogated them threateningly, not wanting a commotion, the reporters scattered quickly.

As the new year approached, stories about celebrities turning adult dominated the news.

[Entertainment News] Almost adults! Stars turning 20?

[Feature] On the cusp of adulthood… Top 5 actors to watch next year

[Interview] Kang Siheon, “I already feel like I’ve had my coming-of-age ceremony.”

Recovery takes time. But for some reason, Siheon worked relentlessly. Perhaps it was because he was on the cusp of turning 20, becoming an adult.

The special interview was longer and richer than expected. It contained his struggles to establish himself as an adult actor from a child actor, along with other candid stories.

I was frustrated that he wasn’t resting, but reading the article thoroughly was a separate matter.

Reading intently, I reached the final question. I ignored his answer about wanting to film a “deep melodrama” as an adult.

Q. What kind of commercial would you like to film as an adult?

A. Hmm… Anything they entrust me with (laughs). Seriously, I can do anything well.

Q. If you had to pick just one?

A. A bank commercial. An image that inspires trust isn’t easily earned.

The article ended by cheering for Kang Siheon as he entered adulthood, with early New Year’s greetings.

At first, I saved the article to read before bed, quietly returning the New Year’s greetings he offered. Or I thought I was satisfied. Maybe I could fulfill this wish. Not next year, but…

I scrapped the business plan I’d been preparing. Secretary Yang seemed surprised by my sudden change, voicing concern.

“It’ll be very tight on time. You’ve only just recovered…”

“It’s fine.”

Unlike Secretary Yang, the staff who’d been negative about the aviation industry, calling it a money pit, brightened up. When I expressed interest in the financial sector, which could serve as a cash cow, work gained momentum like never before.

With discussions on easing the separation of financial and industrial capital nearing their end, immediate action was impractical. But Chairman Cha Hyeoncheol approved of the strategy to acquire a financial license and take over an existing bank to establish a stable foothold in finance.

That January, Siheon didn’t attend his graduation. The flowers I’d prepared to celebrate his new beginning stayed in my room’s vase for a long time. I wasn’t disappointed. I had an unwavering heart and an unquenchable scent.

So, even if late, being able to deliver it was enough.

I dreamed every day.

A little egret soared freely through the sky, and the man’s steady voice echoed like gentle water.

All my choices led toward him. In dreams and reality, wherever we went, we were together.

Thus, I was no longer alone.

And thus, I no longer had nightmares.